Thursday, July 08, 2010

The Sink

The Sink

She loves to talk on the telephoneWhile washing the dinner dishes, Catching up long distance orDealing with issues closer to home,The reconnoitering with the long lost Or a recent so-and-so. She finds it therapeutic, washing downthe aftermath. And that feeling she gets in her stomach with a loved one’s prolonged silence. And under the sinkin the dark among the L-pipes, the confederatesocket wrenches, lost twine, wire lei, sink funk, steel-wool lemnisci, leitmotifsof oily sacraments, a broken compass foreverpointing southeast by east, mold codices, ring-tailed dust motes from days well served, a fish-shaped flyswatter with blue horns, fermented lemurs, fiery spectres, embattled spirit vapors swirling in the crudenext to the Soft Scrub, the vinegared and leistered sealed in tins, delicious with saltines, gleaned spikelets, used-up votives….In the back in the corner forgotten An old coffee can of bacon fat From a month of sinful Sundays, A luna moth embossed, rising-a morning star.

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About Me

"The houses that are important to us are the ones that allow us to dream in peace";...from Bachelard's: "The Poetics of Space". And so The house is but the four walls that protect the dreamer inside. I am it, and it is me.